Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

TL: Etude

The room was eerily silent, broken only by the ticking of a grandfather clock.

This was the office of the Commander of the Port Fran Naval Headquarters. Unlike the monotonous office of a certain count, this room was adorned with several well-maintained potted plants, and on the wall hung an oil painting depicting a red sun rising slowly from the vast sea.

The owner of the office, Navy Commander Austin, was sitting behind his desk, eyes closed in contemplation.

His mind was undoubtedly busy, as there were many issues demanding his attention.

The first issue was shipbuilding.

A new batch of Sloop ships was being vigorously constructed at the shipyard docks, and this time, two ships were being built simultaneously.

The design of these new Sloops was not a mere replication of the “Hope.” On one hand, after personally experiencing a trial voyage, Lord Grayman introduced a concept: “human-machine engineering.”

He demanded that without compromising the ships’ combat capabilities, the comfort of the sailors aboard should be improved as much as possible. For instance, the arrangement on the deck should be neat and orderly, not chaotically headache-inducing. The operation of the sails should be streamlined, among other enhancements.

In essence, the aim was to make the sailors feel more at home, though Sloops, being small, had limited room for such improvements. However, Lord Grayman insisted on incorporating this design philosophy into larger ships to be built later.

Everyone understood the logic: a more comfortable environment typically helps maintain a better mood and physical condition.

“I’m talking about without compromising combat capability, as combat ability is the foundation of everything,” emphasized Count Grayman in the end.

On the other hand, although the trial voyage of “Hope” was generally successful, flaws were discovered during frequent training sessions led by Quik and others.

These flaws and suggestions for improvements from the naval officers were promptly relayed to the shipyard, allowing Rubin, Benjamin, and others to modify the design and apply these improvements to the new ships.

Both of these aspects posed significant challenges for the shipyard craftsmen.

Then there was the pirate issue.

Not only Grayman but also Austin himself suspected the presence of spies from the Mudfish Gang within the navy or nearby. He had assigned Captain Valk of the Naval Patrol and Cecil’s intelligence officer, Duran, stationed at Port Fran, to investigate. The outcome was yet to be determined.

If there truly were spies, the navy’s impending proactive strike might have already been leaked.

“Knock, knock, knock!” A series of knocks interrupted Austin’s thoughts.

He opened his eyes and called, “Come in!”

Upon opening the door, two people entered: Captain Valk and intelligence officer Duran.

As Austin gestured for them to sit, he said, “I hope you bring good news.”

The two exchanged glances, and Duran gestured for Valk to speak.

The Patrol Team leader solemnly said to Austin, “Commander, I have both good and bad news.”

Austin quickly responded, “Start with the bad!”

At least there would be some good news afterward to offer comfort.

“There’s indeed a spy planted by pirates.”

Ah, that wasn’t too bad; Austin had already surmised as much.

“And the good news?”

“We have identified who the spy is.”

Captain Valk handed a stack of documents to Austin.

Austin quickly skimmed through them and said somewhat resignedly, “Well, it seems Lord Grayman pays the soldiers a bit too generously. They even have spare money for such activities.”

The spy planted by the pirates within Port Fran turned out to be the owner of the town’s only brothel, a man named Clement.

He could easily guess how Clement obtained naval information.

“Is the evidence solid?”

“Very solid. We followed a contact.”

“How many people from the navy have visited his brothel?”

“We’ve confirmed 48 people, including 6 officers.”

With so many people involved, Austin’s face grew increasingly rigid. He was infuriated, certain that many fools had been coaxed into spilling secrets in bed.

“Expel everyone who visited the brothel from the navy! And prohibit anyone in the military from engaging in such activities in the future.”

Austin was about to shout this out loud but then reconsidered. He ordered, “Identify those who specifically leaked information, and handle it as per military regulations.”

“Yes, Commander,” replied Captain Valk.

Intelligence officer Duran suggested, “Should we get the city hall to shut down the brothel?”

Austin waved his hand and said, “No, I’ve been looking for an opportunity to catch the Mudfish. Perhaps this is a good chance to set a trap using this spy.”

“Let’s have a thorough talk with Mr. Clement, the brothel owner.”

…

Clement was tied up in a hidden room in his brothel.

His mouth, gagged, emitted muffled sounds, but to no avail. No one outside the room could hear him. After all, he had invested a lot in soundproofing the rooms for his clients’ convenience.

Someone said, “Uncover his mouth. But Clement, if you dare to shout, hmm!”

The gag was pulled from Clement’s mouth.

After a few deep breaths, the brothel owner pleaded, “I confess, I confess everything, sirs of the navy.”

The first man smirked, “So quick to confess? What exactly are you confessing to?”

“I…I…” Clement suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

Today was the unluckiest day for Clement. His business was running smoothly, and some naval officers had come in a group, giving him the idea to probe for information.

The officers, who had booked a private room and called girls to drink and have fun, started a ruckus, damaging things. As the owner, Clement naturally went to check.contemporary romance

The officers sent the girls out and asked Clement to judge their dispute.

But as soon as he entered, they closed the door, overpowered him, and now he was in his current predicament.

Clement stuttered, “I…I…I confess to tax evasion.”

“Slap!” A resounding slap made the brothel owner’s chubby face quiver.

A military officer in a low voice demanded, “We don’t care about your tax evasion. Speak! Are you a spy planted by the pirates in Port Fran? Speak softly.”

“Injustice! How could I possibly deal with those vicious scoundrels?”

Clement tried to deny it, but the naval officers quickly presented irrefutable evidence, coupled with a gleaming knife fluttering near his face. Eventually, he admitted his connection with the Mudfish Gang within the pirates.

The officer patted his plump face, as if patting a pig about to be slaughtered.

He said with a sinister smile, “According to our Commander Austin, after your confession, we should execute you on the spot.”

Clement’s face showed intense fear. He was about to beg for mercy but was promptly gagged again.

The officer continued, “Just listen. There’s a chance for you to save your life right in front of you. I wonder if you can seize it.”

Hearing he might live, Clement, still gagged, nodded vigorously.

done.co